


By Any Other Name

by imaginary_golux



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Online Friendship, to lovers maybe in the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 22:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17733623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: For the February Ficlet Challenge prompt "Alternate Universe - Characters meet online."Harry likes to unwind after a long day's teaching by posting on a Quidditch fanboard, which sometimes attracts trolls.Opaleyelikes to relax by insulting trolls. How could they not become friends?Meeting in person's going to be a little awkward, though.Beta by my Best of all Beloveds, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.





	By Any Other Name

Harry really does honestly adore his job, but today one of the sixth-year Hufflepuffs had a nervous breakdown and three separate pairs of rivals attempted to duel in the corridors and the latest incarnation of the Marauders put something in the pumpkin juice that turned everyone’s hair pink, and he is _exhausted_. Thank Merlin he’s not on corridor duty tonight.

And thank _Hermione_ for Harry’s favorite way to de-stress: logging on to the Wizard Net and posting gleeful recaps of Ginny’s most recent games on the Quiddich boards. She had a game this weekend, one where she was predictably amazing, and Harry hasn’t gotten to write it up yet, so that’s his evening ready to go.

Ron still thinks it’s a little odd that Harry goes to all of Ginny’s games to cheer her on even after they’ve been broken up for five years and Ginny’s started dating Gabrielle, but Harry likes watching Ginny play, and isn’t above using just a little bit of his ridiculous “Boy-Who-Conquered” social currency to make sure the Holyhead Harpies always have a full fan section - even if a lot of the fans started coming just so they could say they sat near The Famous Harry Potter, these days they come to watch the Harpies dominate the Quidditch pitch, so Harry thinks he’s quite justifiably proud of himself. And Ginny appreciates having a cheering section, even on the days it’s just Harry and Gabrielle screaming their hearts out every time she makes a goal. (Gabrielle, being part-Veela, can hit _much_ higher notes than Harry can. He brings specially-made earplugs.)

So Harry goes to every game, and then he writes up a little post about how well Ginny did, and also how well her teammates did if any of them pulled off something particularly awesome, and puts it up on the Wizard Net, and people say nice things about Ginny in the comments, and he gets to feel like he’s done something fun and stressless and pleasant and go to bed in a good mood, ready for whatever shenanigans tomorrow’s students will bring.

Tonight he puts up a short recap of Sunday’s game, in which Ginny scored eight goals and pulled off a _very_ nice interception, and sits back to read some of the other posts that have been put up since the weekend - he has some suspicions of who **tarantulatalks** might be, but regardless of whether it’s actually Lee Jordan or not, they put up some damn fine analyses of the Montrose Magpies’ games. Harry’s five paragraphs into a very sharp play-by-play of the Magpies’ most recent game when his computer chimes that he’s got a comment and he switches over to read it -

And discovers that his first commenter of the evening is an _arsehole_. The whole comment is nothing but obscene commentary on Ginny and rude lies about her lack of skill, and the commenter has left themselves anonymous so he can’t even go and yell at them on their own page. Harry stares in baffled horror. He’s seen people making comments like this on other people’s posts, but this is the first troll _he’s_ gotten, and he’s not quite sure how to respond.

And then a second comment pops up, a reply to the first, and Harry’s eyes go even wider. This one has a username - **opaleye** , so they’re probably into dragons - and is tearing into the first commenter with the most precisely vicious, beautifully barbed language Harry has ever seen. There’s not a speck of profanity or obscenity, but in five sentences **opaleye** manages to insult the anonymous poster’s intelligence, eyesight, parentage, genitalia, and Quidditch knowledge. It’s sort of beautiful.

Harry clicks through to **opaleye** ’s page and opens a direct chat.

**prongslet:** Hey, thanks! I wasn’t quite sure how to deal with that.

There’s a short pause, and then:

**opaleye** : My pleasure. Reading Quidditch recaps is how I unwind after a long day, and I don’t care for ignoramuses like that to interrupt.

**prongslet:** I hope they won’t go after you now, though.

**opaleye:** They can try. Tearing idiots new arseholes is almost as relaxing as reading Quidditch recaps.

Harry bursts into laughter.

**prongslet:** My hero! Thank you again.

**opaleye:** That may be the first time I’ve ever been called a hero.

**opaleye:** By the way, what do you think of the Harpies’ new Seeker?

Harry blinks. He wasn’t expecting this to turn into a proper conversation, but **opaleye** seems nice enough, and Harry _does_ have some opinions on young Marylou, so…

He shrugs and dives into the conversation with a will.

*

**opaleye:** Sweet Merlin, some days I wonder why I went into business. Surely there must be _some_ people in the world who actually read posted signs?

**prongslet:** About as many as there are students who remember what day the big essay is due, I think.

**opaleye:** So, none, then. Aside from a few particularly swotty Ravenclaws.

**prongslet:** Pretty much, yeah.

**prongslet:** So what sign were they ignoring today?

**opaleye:** The one that said ‘Closed for Lunch.’

**prongslet:** *muffled laughter* I’m so sorry.

**opaleye:** It’s not as though it’s a small sign! And I hang it at eye level! It’s charmed to _scintillate!_

**prongslet:** I’ve reminded all of my students eight times that the essay is due this Friday, and I am anticipating Thursday afternoon being full of panicked pleas for extensions. People are just...like that, I suppose.

**opaleye:** I should charm the sign to punch people in the nose if they try to open the door.

**prongslet:** You really shouldn’t.

**opaleye:** I can dream.

*

**prongslet:** Am I allowed to hex my students? Asking for a friend.

**opaleye:** You would feel guilty afterwards.

**prongslet:** Must you be right all the time?

**opaleye:** It’s part of my undeniable charm.

**opaleye:** What did the little monsters do today?

**prongslet:** Pair of seventh-years dueling in the halls managed to catch a trio of firsties in the crossfire. Firsties are all in the Infirmary, and the seventh-years still won’t apologize or take responsibility.

**opaleye:** Dear Merlin. I was a complete prat in school, and even I didn’t get that nasty.

**opaleye:** I mean, I did...pretty terrible things. But I didn’t hex firsties. Except when I _was_ a firstie.

**prongslet:** Firsties hexing each other is one thing. Most of them don’t know more than a couple of spells anyhow. But this...Merlin, I’m having a lot of trouble not going down to the Headmistress’s office and reading them the riot act. But she’s doing that, and I don’t want to intrude.

**opaleye:** Well, now I know you’re not McGonagall.

**prongslet:** You’ve been wondering?

**opaleye:** Well, she’s notoriously invested in Quidditch, and she _does_ have a soft spot for the Weasleys. It wouldn’t be completely out of character for her to be following Ginevra’s career.

**prongslet:** If you ever meet Ginny, don’t call her that, it’ll piss her off.

**opaleye:** Good to know, thank you.

**prongslet:** I’m definitely not McGonagall, though.

Harry leans back and looks at the screen. They’ve been chatting for almost a year now, him and **opaleye** , and Harry _likes_ **opaleye**. The other man - that much Harry’s deduced from a few dropped comments - is snarky and clever, knows a lot about Quidditch, sympathizes with Harry’s student frustrations and is vastly amusing about his own shopkeeping woes. He’s - a friend, actually, almost as close as Ron and Hermione and Ginny, these days. The fact that they’ve never _met_ \- that **opaleye** doesn’t know who Harry _is_ \- is sort of irrelevant most of the time.

But it might be nice to talk to **opaleye** in person, especially given that - well - that Harry might, perhaps, have a little bit of a crush on the other man. Just a little one. Nothing to write home about. But if they meet, and **opaleye** turns out to be ninety, or a Potter fanboy, or - well, at least Harry’d _know_. And on the other hand, if **opaleye** turns out to be as interesting in person as he is online…

**prongslet:** Would you want to meet sometime, so I can prove I’m not McGonagall?

There’s a long, long pause.

**opaleye:** Do you think that’s a good idea? I’m...not sure you’ll like me, if you meet me.

**prongslet:** You might not like _me_.

**opaleye:** Bullshit, you’re adorable.

**prongslet:** I don’t quite know how to respond to that. Thanks?

**opaleye:** Sorry. But I can’t imagine not liking you in person.

**prongslet:** I have a long history of people not liking me, though not usually because of anything I did. But anyhow! If you did want to meet, I can get down to Hogsmeade on weekends.

**opaleye:** I’ve been meaning to come look at a couple of suppliers in Hogsmeade. I suppose I could come down this Saturday, around lunch?

**prongslet:** Meet at the Three Broomsticks? I’ll wear a green shirt.

Oh Merlin, he’s actually doing this.

**opaleye:** I’ll be there around noon. Green and silver robes.

Harry snorts a laugh, startled out of his worry.

**prongslet:** Guess I don’t have to wonder what House you were in.

**opaleye:** Oh please, as though any of the other Houses could manage to insult people as elegantly as I do.

Harry bursts into true laughter. Yeah, this is going to work. Even if his crush never goes anywhere, he and **opaleye** are going to be friends.

*

Harry’s fidgeting with the label off his butterbeer, turning it into a little pile of scraps. It’s just now noon - he was ridiculously early out of nerves, of course - and the Three Broomsticks is busy, Madam Rosmerta bustling about with a broad smile on her face. Harry managed to get a booth along the back wall, out of the way and a little bit in shadow. Even now, more than a decade on, people tend to flock to him in public, often demanding autographs, and he prefers to avoid that whenever possible. Madam Rosmerta is good about giving him a quiet corner, though.

The door blows open and half a dozen people come crowding in out of the weather - it’s raining again, of course - all so close together Harry can’t tell if any of them are wearing green and silver robes; and then a waiter goes by in front of him, and by the time Harry can see the rest of the room again, there’s someone approaching his table.

Green and silver robes. White-blond hair. Wide, startled grey eyes.

“Malfoy,” Harry says, for lack of anything better. Malfoy stops beside Harry’s booth, staring at him in dismay.

“Potter,” he says blankly.

There’s a long silence as they stare at each other. Harry can’t quite manage to put together a coherent thought. _Malfoy_ is **opaleye**. Which...okay, yes, the Opaleye is a dragon, and Malfoy is just the sort of arsehole who’d make that sort of joke, and yes, now that Harry thinks about it, he can see how Malfoy’s joy in insulting _him_ has matured into a gleeful tirade against any troll who crosses his path, and okay, he did know Malfoy had scandalized pureblood society by setting up a shop on Diagon Alley that sells charmed woodwork, from Vanishing Cabinets to protective amulets, which even Ron has reluctantly acknowledged are quite good work -

Yeah, okay, Harry can see it. And it _has_ been more than ten years. And Malfoy has been conspicuously not evil for the entire decade, and was at least moderately not evil by the end of the war, and downright polite during the special eighth year McGonagall set up for the survivors of the Battle.

And has kind of grown into his pointy face. Also he’s stopped slicking his hair back, and it looks soft, and…

“Sit down,” Harry says, gesturing at the other side of the booth. “How’d your meetings with the suppliers go?”

Malfoy sits down, an odd look on his face. “We’re actually doing this, Potter?” he asks.

“I’m quite fond of opaleye,” Harry says. “And you weren’t terrible, eighth year.”

“Not terrible - there’s a ringing endorsement,” Malfoy says, but he’s smiling a little. “You’re not terrible yourself, Potter.”

“Bullshit, I’m adorable,” Harry says, and Malfoy bursts into laughter, looking very surprised at himself.

“You’re _dreadful_ , Potter,” he says, and Harry grins.

“I did warn you,” he points out.

“Yeah, you did, and I charged in like a Gryffindor anyhow, and here’s my just punishment,” Malfoy says. “So. Any student shenanigans this morning?”

“Someone managed to get a goblet stuck to his nose,” Harry says.

“Alright, that’s impressively stupid,” says Malfoy - **opaleye** \- _Draco._ “How in Merlin’s name do you do _that_?”

“With great skill,” Harry says, and Draco _laughs_ , and it’s -

It’s going to work, Harry thinks, marveling. **Opaleye** is Draco, and it’s going to be okay.


End file.
